


Surprise!

by notmeagan



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Contest, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fuckyeahmystradefanfic Valentine's Day Contest, Lots of flowers, M/M, Valentine's Day, cuteness, sherlock being sassy, sooo many flowers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-18
Updated: 2014-02-18
Packaged: 2018-01-12 21:47:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1201786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notmeagan/pseuds/notmeagan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg Lestrade helps Mycroft Holmes celebrate Valentine's Day by going on Valentine's missions for him, but gets frustrated when he can't spend the day with his lover.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Surprise!

**Author's Note:**

> written for Fuckyeahmystradefanfic's Valentine's Day contest!  
> thank you to Hanna for putting up with my questions about words and beta reading, Jasmine for helping me come up with an idea, and Hope for being Mr. Blue-Eyes.

[text] From: [Mycroft<3] To: [Gregory Lestrade]: Are you free from the clutches of paperwork this evening?

[text] From: [Gregory Lestrade] To: [Mycroft<3]: of course love. we’ve just finished a case, so good timing

[text] From: [Mycroft<3] To: [Gregory Lestrade]: I know. The car will be round at approximately 8.

[text] From: [Gregory Lestrade] To: [Mycroft<3]: your creepy

The grey-haired man set his phone down on his worn-out desk with a grin. He never ceased to feel butterflies in his stomach when his partner asked him out to a dinner, even if it was the normal protocol – both were free on Wednesday nights (at least most of the time; Mycroft’s schedule was never predictable), so they had deemed it their date night. He ran his tongue along his bottom teeth, only widening his smile, and continued to type up the last of his report. Only a few more paragraphs vaguely detailing Sherlock’s help on his case, and he would be home free to be free at home with Mycroft…

His phone buzzed.

[text] From: [Mycroft<3] To: [Gregory Lestrade]: You’re*, dear.

Lestrade rolled his eyes. He chose to ignore the text, as he knew his lover was on the other side of the connection smirking.

Over the course of the next few hours, Greg managed to finish his write-up, file the accompanying reports and clean his desk (mostly) of the resilient papers he had yet to complete. Sitting back in his chair and laying his hands, interlocked, over his stomach, he smiled. He figured there’s a lot one can get done when one has a date he has to make. Just as his imagination was beginning to wander, there was a light tapping at his glass door.

“Your boyfriend’s here.” Sally Donovan practically sang, teasing her boss, who was only slightly flustered.

“Thank you, Sargeant. That’ll be all.” Lestrade said in his best fake-intimdating-Detective-Inspector voice, and flashed a smirk as he whirled his coat off his desk chair and whisked past her. He heard her chuckle behind him, but it was ignored as he met eyes with Mycroft down the alley of the cubicles. He grinned widely as the other just twitched his lips, both not paying attention to the looks and coughs of the still-working officers who inhabited the tiny squares. As Greg came closer, the ginger held out his hand, ready to take the other’s and head to dinner. Lestrade interlaced his fingers willingly.

They made their way down and out of the building. They had done this so often that the looks the received were minimal, and ignored. They chatted lightly and Mycroft held the door of the car open for him.

“Thanks, love.” Lestrade mumbled, planting a gentle kiss on his almost-stubbled cheek and slid in, Mycroft following afterwards and immediately replacing their hands together.

“How was work?” He continued, rubbing his thumb against Mycroft’s knuckles. A great sigh fell from his lips.

“That’s telling.” Greg commented with a grin, which earned him a small smile from his lover.

“I’ve managed to anger at least three important figureheads in the past seven hours.” Mycroft grimaced and turned towards Lestrade, who gave a comforting pout and a pat on the hand.

“If it’s any help, I broke the office’s kettle today,” Lestrade shrugged, and gave a small laugh at the other’s wide, faux-mortified eyes. “Sally almost cried.”

“And how did you manage to destroy one of the most beneficial inventions the Colonies have ever produced?” Mycroft asked, trying to hide a very small smile behind his lips.

“The… no, you’re just going to laugh at me.” Greg pouted, pulling Mycroft’s hand so he could cross his arms on his chest. The well-suited man bit his lip to keep from laughing and poked at his lover’s chest underneath his arms, as his hand was trapped there anyway.

“No, I promise you on the gravestone of my Grandmama’s purebred Arabian I will not even chuckle.” Mycroft assured, scooting subtly closer.

“No.” Greg upheld, pointing his nose up with certainty.

Mycroft scooted closer. “Please?”

“No.”

“S’il vous plait, mon amour?”

“Non.”

The driver stuck his head through the open window separating the front and back of the car, which caught both of their attention. “We’ve arrived, sirs.” He informed with a grin. The car was parked right outside the front door of their usual restaurant. Mycroft looked expectantly at his partner.

“I-broke-off-the-handle-okay!” Greg mumbled quickly, and managed to slip out of the car before Mycroft could quite register what was said. He slammed the door behind him, and tromped to the other side. He waited until the ring of laughter (cute as it may be, it was directed towards him, therefore he’d play it cool) died down from inside the vehicle. He opened the door with an eccentric scowl on his face.

“Are you finished?” Lestrade sulked, and Mycroft smiled at him, his eyes practically twinkling.

“No, but for your poor sake, I will refrain from expressing my utter amusement with the situation.” The other took his hand as he pulled himself out of the car. After retrieving his umbrella, they walked into the restaurant and took their normal small booth seat. They were greeted by a new waitress, though it seemed she knew who they were as she asked if they wanted the usual. Mycroft nodded and Lestrade added an extra order of chips. Mycroft gave him a raised eyebrow.

“It was a long day.” Lestrade said as an excuse. The ginger hummed in faked belief, and Greg just laughed. He stretched his hand across the table to tap on the other’s fingers.

“You know what’s coming up?” The grey-haired man asked with a cheeky grin.

“Mmm? What?” Mycroft only spared him a glance over his water, knowing what was going to be brought up and failing at nonchalance.

“Y’know, for someone who’s supposed to be smarter than Sherlock Holmes, you’re rather thick.” Greg teased, and tapped his fingers on his skin. The well-suited man practically gasped.

“I am no such thing, I assure you.” He replied with certainty and set his glass down quietly.

“You’re not smarter than your brother?” Greg smirked. Mycroft just playfully glared at him.

“The difference between my IQ and my brother’s is astronomical,” he raised his eyebrow, “and the higher number favours my side.”

“Mhmm, whatever. So have you got Friday off?” Greg bit his tongue in a smile, with raised eyebrows that suggested he was up to no good.

“I don’t recall an important event happening on this Friday that would require my absence from work.” Mycroft lied through his teeth, unable to hold back a smile.

“You’re a shit liar.” Greg laughed, and pulled his hand away to press both against the corners of the tables, much to the elder Holmes’ dismay. “I told Sally I wasn’t going to come to work on Friday, even if my life depended on it. So the same’s for you.” He added, matter-of-factly.

Mycroft chuckled lightly. “I wanted to discuss some... favours I would ask of you to complete for me before and on Friday.”

“What sort of favours?” Greg asked in a cheeky tone. His eyes practically flashed his naughty thoughts, and he only smiled wider when he saw the waitress bring over their food and set it in front of them. They thanked her as she left.

“Not those,” Mycroft amended quietly. His cheeks flushed a light pink, and the grey-haired man laughed.

“What, then?” He asked in a slightly more concerned tone. “I mean, if you’re not available on Friday because of work, it wouldn’t be the end of the world, but I just thought since it was Valentine’s, you know -“

Mycroft stopped him with a hand that shot over the table to lay on the other’s. “I am not available in the morning, but by late afternoon I will be completely yours.” He said quickly to calm the other’s nerves. He sighed.

“Alright. As long as we get to spend time together.” Lestrade smiled, not completely disappointed. “What are these favours you’re on about, then?” He questioned, and took a large bite of his meal.

“Well,” Mycroft started, “I have always been deeply intrigued by Valentine’s Day, though I have never felt comfortable expressing it in the way other humans tend to. With your help, I hope to fix this, as I will be occupied until late Friday and you… well, you will be less occupied.”

“You’re asking me to hand out your Valentine’s for you?” Greg looked skeptical. “I’m not handing any chocolate hearts over to the PM, or some crazy over-powered businessman.”

Mycroft laughed lightly and took a bite of his food. “No, God, no. I wouldn’t ask that of you. Just our mutual friends – Sherlock, John.”

“So, if I do this, we’ll get the night to ourselves?” The policeman looked hopeful.

“My dear Gregory, if you do this for me, I will be forever in your debt – and there may be a weekend at the country estate on the table, as well.” Mycroft smirked at him, knowing this offer was one he wouldn’t turn down.

“Throw some sweeties at Sherlock, and get your debt in a mansion for a weekend? I’m in.” Lestrade smiled and dug into his food. The small pang of disappointment in the pit of his stomach would have to wait.

They ate their dinner in peace.

 

* * *

 

On Thursday, two days after their meal, Lestrade escaped work early to begin on the list Mycroft had given him. It had started with Sally, and Mycroft had provided her with a very old bottle of scotch and a very large amount of chocolate. The note had been anonymous, and Lestrade just shrugged it off when she confronted him. He guessed it was for putting up with Sherlock – even if she was rather rude about it. He had also delivered a healthy amount of caramels to each officer in his unit that had had to deal with Sherlock at some point (at least, that’s what the grey haired man guessed it was; it was hard to remember everyone who had send a complaint to him about his lover’s brother.)

Now, he was outside, his face getting beaten by the harsh winds of February, trying to catch a cab to get the next gift to Anderson. Lestrade hypothesized that the gift could be considered almost ironic, but with all of the grief and guilt the now-fired forensic scientist has faced over the past few years, the bloke almost deserved a gift of a Holmes. Even if it was the wrong one.

Finally able to wave down a vehicle, he clambered in and gave an address. He only had a few more on the list before he got to Sherlock and John, who’s instructions were much more complicated than the others. He readjusted his work bag, making sure not to squish the contents of it. He had seen so much chocolate today – and squished so many boxes of it – he wasn’t sure he could stand to eat any if the occasion arose. If. The disappointment arose in him again, caused by the fact he would be alone for half of Valentine’s Day when he had a love so dear to his heart.

He reached for his phone to occupy his time as he waited for the cab to stop.

[text] From: [Gregory Lestrade] To: [Mycroft<3]: why does Anderson get more chocolate than sally

Before he hit send, his face contorted into disappointment at his clinginess. Maybe he should just leave his love alone, so that he could finish his work? By bugging him, he would only prolong his lack of presence tomorrow. The cab stopped in front of Anderson’s building just as he was hitting the erase button repeatedly on his phone. He swallowed the lump in his throat, and put on a smile as he paid his driver and went up to the appropriate flat.

 

* * *

 

“Anderson,” Lestrade sighed in annoyance.

“I don’t understand. It’s a part of his plan. It has to be! Or, he feels guilty about putting me in this position, or, he-“

“ANDERSON.” Lestrade snapped, getting the other’s attention. “If you don’t shut your mouth, I’ll arrest you for assaulting an off-duty officer. You got that?” Phillip nodded with wide eyes and a closed mouth.

“Take your bloody chocolate so I can leave, yeah?” The grey-haired man grumbled, and tossed the two boxes at him. Anderson took them and coddled the boxes next to his already gifted bottle of aged rum and expensive shaving kit with his initials etched on each piece.

“Have a good Valentine’s Day!” Anderson called after Greg as he practically stomped out of the flat and down the stairs. He sunk down on the bottom step to sit and took a deep, deep breath.

Why was he this touchy? He was still going to see Mycroft tomorrow, and it wasn’t as if they were planning on spending the day together for a long time, and with the other’s schedule he should have known…

He groaned in frustration and slapped his hands over his face. He was being stupid. Absolutely ridiculous, like a school boy. He slipped out his phone. One text was sure to take the edge off… well, one text and a couple cigarettes.

[text] From: [Gregory Lestrade] To: [Mycroft<3]: what time are you going to be at your place tonight?

He hit send without thinking about it too much and stepped outside to quench his thirst for nicotine until a reply came back to him.

 

* * *

 

“Must I be herded like a sheep travelling to its death?” A very annoyed voice, accompanied by a mess of black hair and a fairly large bouquet of flowers, piped up.

“Will you shut up? It’s the least we can do.” His accomplice snapped back as Mycroft laughed.

“Brother, will you set those delphiniums on the bar? And do stop complaining. It’s so unbecoming. John, those chrysanthemums can be scattered in the hydrangeas on the far table.” John nodded and began to place the flowers evenly throughout.

“Oh, you’re a natural.” Sherlock scoffed, the words seemingly burning his throat on their way out, as he walked past his only friend to set the flowers on the wrong side of the bar.

“Thank you.” John practically chirped and threw a sarcastic smile at him.

Mycroft overlooked their progress so far. They would have to get the set up done tonight, so it wasn’t a rush to finish it tomorrow. It had to be perfect. There is only the best for his Gregory.  
John sprinkled some leftover baby’s breath in Sherlock’s hair, and the flower was so light he didn’t even notice – he was too busy scowling at the privet berries.

Though it was planned to be basked in candlelight, the beauty of the small room was obvious with the natural sun. A small breakfast table in the middle of the round room was pushed closer to the set of three tall windows which curved out into the cook’s garden, a mix of spice plants, tomatoes and flowers. The beauty was only magnified by the panels of glass. The table was draped with a light lace cloth across the centre, an unlit silver candelabra was centered on the circular, dark wood. Two chairs, also draped in white lace and tied in the back, matched the table’s dark, almost-mahogany look. One of the two dusky brown sideboards stood close to the table and against the wall. Atop, a white lace runner ran length-wise with two porcelain vases with a mixture of anemone flowers, chrysanthemums, baby’s breath and privet berries on either side. Another larger candelabrum sat in the middle, its wax ready to be lit. A matching sideboard was across the room, but was only inhabited by one vase with hydrangeas and baby’s breath and an iHome. The walls were darker than the rest of the wood, a warm walnut colour, and were paneled as if it was built in the 19th century. The rug, soft to the touch and an off-white hue, contrasted along with all of the white lace against the floor.

The elder Holmes sighed. This was Gregory’s favourite room in Mycroft’s house, and to see it so beautifully decorated – mostly through his and John’s work, but Sherlock helped at points – was incredibly satisfying. Leaving his love for half of the day tomorrow to prepare further was hard, but he knew it would be worth it. He checked his phone, and he had one message from the other man.

[text] From: [Gregory Lestrade] To: [Mycroft<3]: what time are you going to be at your place tonight?

He had received it thirty seven minutes previously, and quickly tapped out a response. He wasn’t exactly lying, but… the ginger man couldn’t help but feel pangs of guilt as he gave his excuses.

 

* * *

 

[text] From: [Mycroft<3] To: [Gregory Lestrade]: I’m sorry, love. I’ve been very busy and I am unsure if I will make it home tonight.

Lestrade read the text twice and sighed. Of course, he was too busy. That’s why he couldn’t spend all day with him tomorrow. He groaned as he stood up, still sitting outside the lunatic’s flat on the sidewalk. He dropped his… fifth?... cigarette to the concrete and stepped on it. He tried to occupy his mind with other things as he caught a cab and headed home. His constantly drafty flat.

Once he arrived home, he wasted no time clambering into a shower and falling into his hard bed. He tried his hardest to empty his mind and sleep, but, that didn’t come for another two hours. He had a lot of work to do the next day, and knowing that he'd have to finish the list half asleep seemed to make him more tired.

 

* * *

 

In the morning, after taking over an hour to dress, eat, and leave his flat, Lestrade made his way over to the familiar 221B Baker Street. He felt refreshed, and while he was still frustrated and the ache that it was Valentine’s Day and he was without his lover was heavy in his chest, he could hide his emotions to deal with the detective and his blogger. He readjusted the bag on his shoulder. He skipped knocking and pushed the large black door open, and headed to say hello to Mrs. Hudson first. Gripping a large bouquet of white roses in one hand and a box of chocolates in the other, he rapped his knuckles against the glass on her door, and she opened it with a bright smile, which he returned.

“Hello, dearie!” She said, bringing him into a hug. He returned it, and when she released him he gave her the gifts. She clapped one hand on her face and her grin got unbelievably wider.

“For you, lovey. Flowers are from Mycroft, the chocolates are from me.” He gave a toothy grin as she took them from his hands.

“Oh, thank you! I have to go cut these and put them in a vase immediately! Do you want to come and have a sit?” She asked, stopping in her door for his response. He waved a hand nonchalantly.

“No, I can’t, I’m sorry. I’ve got some business with John and Sherlock.” He pointed upwards with raised eyebrows. She smiled and nodded.

“You have a lovely day, then, dear.” She turned to leave, but stopped. “Say, why aren’t you with that Mycroft today, then?”

Lestrade’s smile faltered. “He’s… busy today. We’ll have tonight.” He smiled reassuringly and she gave him a sympathetic look.

“Alright, then. My door’s always open if you need a nice sit down and a cuppa.” She said as she finally left.

“Thanks, Mrs. Hudson.” He replied as she shut the door. He glanced at the stairs and took a deep breath. He had read through the instructions Mycroft had given him a few times to make sure he did it right, but everything seemed almost self-explanatory. He stomped his way up the stairs to make sure both knew he was coming and went in without knocking.

John was sitting at Sherlock’s computer (no doubt typing up a case) and Sherlock sat in his chair, his knees drawn up to his chest, watching a video with John’s laptop sitting on his chair. Greg knew not to question the happenings in this room, but he couldn’t help the quirked eyebrow that arose at the sight. Couldn’t they use their own laptops?

“Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to open your admittedly unusually large mouth and explain why you’re here?” Sherlock said very quickly, not taking his eyes off the screen.

“Your brother likes my mouth.” Lestrade mused as he saw Sherlock’s face contort into something disturbed. “What are you watching?” He started to walk over, but Sherlock quickly stood, slammed the laptop, and dramatically flipped his dressing gown all in one movement.

“Something your brain would find far too advanced to compute. I believe it would sputter out.” Sherlock waved one hand about and grabbed the laptop with the other.

“He’s streaming a debate between Bill Nye and Ken Ham. Some… evolution thing.” John piped in, giving a small smile at Lestrade.

“It’s amazing how idiotic one member of the human race could be. More so than both of you combined, which is especially impressive.” Sherlock called from the kitchen, and from the sound of it, he had his mouth full. John gave a finishing sigh and closed the sleek black computer.

“All done?” Lestrade commented, and John nodded.

“The case of the Retired Colourman.” He informed. “Solved it all by myself.”

“No, you didn’t.” Sherlock replied, returning into the room with a bagel stuffed between his teeth. John rolled his eyes.

“We’re not talking about this in front of a bloody policeman.” John said with a pointed look at his roommate.

“Oh, and I suppose he won’t arrest us when he reads it on your blog?” Sherlock spat, but not hard enough to knock the bread from his mouth.

“Us? You were the one who-“ John started, but the grey-haired man quickly put two hands up to stop them.

“Boys, please. I won’t arrest anyone, it’s my day off.” He conceded with small amusement in his voice.

“What are you doing here, then?” Sherlock asked in an incredibly rude tone. It’s as if he tries to be annoying.

“Mycroft’s sent a Valentine’s Day present to both of you.” He responded, slipping his bag off his shoulder and pulling out a large, rubber-banded case file. Sherlock’s eyes got wide.

“So romantic.” John scoffed with a slight voice of distaste. Sherlock glared at him.

“What is it?” He asked, stepping towards Lestrade and snatching it from his hands.

“Read it. I think you’ll find it intriguing. As for you,” He said, walking towards the sitting John Watson and pulling out an envelope to hand to him, “Two tickets to a romantic dinner boat ride down the Thames, courtesy of Mr. Holmes. My Holmes, not yours.” He added with a lackluster smile. John’s eyes lit up.

“Thanks! This is really, really great. I could take Janet out beforehand, and then this… there’s no way I’m being alone on Valentine’s night.” John smirked, and patted Lestrade’s arm. “Thanks, mate!”

“That’s the idea.” Lestrade bit his tongue, a mischievous look in his eye.

“No, you must help me with this case, John.” Sherlock demanded, still scanning over the files. “Or at least accompany me. Your input would be unhelpful, but I do need someone to talk to.”

“Or, talk at. I’m sure you can do it on your own.” The shorter man scoffed, hitting the envelope against his leg.

“No. You’re coming with me.” Sherlock stated and left the room, presumably to review the case file in quiet.

“I’m sure there’s time to do both.” Lestrade suggested with a shrug, and John sighed.

“Alright, fine.” John sighed. Lestrade gave a smug grin.

“Alright, well, I’m off. You two kiddies have fun.” Lestrade waved, and left, listening to Sherlock call to John to come turn a page.

 

* * *

 

[text] From: [Gregory Lestrade] To: [Mycroft<3]: are you sure this is going to work?

Lestrade sat at a bench in the park, eating a sandwich he bought from a shop a few blocks down. He set his phone next to him as he waited for a reply. If Mycroft really wanted to get his brother and John together, then he was sure he’d do it. He was just worried about messing it up.

[text] From:[Mycroft<3] To: [Gregory Lestrade]: Of course. Let it run its course, and they will realize their skinny love before sunset.

Lestrade sighed. There were still a couple more parts to the plan that involved him, but they weren’t really that demanding. Send them to a few places, and the puzzle pieces should come together in at least Sherlock’s head. Then, a romantic dinner on the Thames for the both of them.

[text] From: [Gregory Lestrade] To: [Mycroft<3]: and when do I get to get your skinny love?

He had to at least try. He missed his lover so much it ached; they were used to being apart, because of Mycroft’s job, but not on a day that meant so much to both of them.

[text] From:[Mycroft<3] To:[Gregory Lestrade]: Our love is not skinny, dear. We will be reunited tonight, I promise you.

Another sigh escaped Greg’s lips. He quickly finished his sandwich and left the park, waving a cab down so he could go to the location he needed to be in to further the plot for John and Sherlock.

 

* * *

 

Sherlock’s lack of emotion was so damn _frustrating_ , especially when Greg had been running all over hell and creation to finish Mycroft’s plan in time to make it to his lover’s home as early as possible. Yet, he wasn’t showing any of the signs the ginger man had suggested he would at this point, and if this plan didn’t get as scheduled, there was little hope in the outcome it was supposed to have. Sherlock was still insisting on going the wrong direction, and John was quickly moving from frustrated to angry.  
It was a quarter till two, and Lestrade had been dealing with this since ten. His level of tolerance was high, as he was a policeman AND he had to deal with the younger Holmes brother on a daily basis, but it was running out. He was alone on Valentine’s Day and he was trying (unsuccessfully, it seemed) to get these two tossers together and he was freezing.

“Lestrade, are you just going to stand there?” Sherlock snapped, and John rolled his eyes.

“Really? He’s just helped us a lot, and you’re going to yell at him like that?” John replied. Lestrade just shook his head.

“I’m not yelling!” Sherlock yelled. John groaned in frustration.

“You are so bloody thick! Really, you are!” He angrily stated, pointing an accusing finger at the messy-headed detective.

Lestrade’s mind froze. It was full of frustration, and loneliness, and anger. He shouldn’t be alone right now, or at least, he didn’t have to deal with this right now. He turned and started walking away without a word.

“Lestrade? Really, Greydon, you don’t have to- ow!” Sherlock pressed a hand against his ear, as John had just smacked him.

“His name is Greg, JESUS, Sherlock!” John began rambling, yelling at him, but Lestrade wasn’t listening. He quickly caught a cab and gave them the address to Mycroft’s house. His mind was going  
a thousand miles an hour, but he didn’t know what it was saying. He just knew he was done with John and Sherlock, and he was going to take a nap in his lover’s bed until his lover could join him.  
If he was going to wait, he wasn’t going to wait AND try and get to men to realize their damn love for each other. Fuck that.

 

* * *

 

Mycroft coughed at the amount of flour in the air. There was flour over his waistcoat, all over his trousers, and especially all over every single counter in the kitchen. The cook was leaning against the least dirty counter with her arms crossed and her head shaking. Against all odds, both of them were slightly amused, and Mycroft started laughing. The cook had a crooked smile on her face.

“I’ve made a mess.” Mycroft stated, nodding his head in slight defeat.

“Do you want me to make it, and then you can say you did?” She asked, her irish accent ringing through the air.

Mycroft thought for a moment, and then sighed and nodded. “May I help with a few of the smaller requirements?”

“Of course.” The cook laughed and pushed herself off of the counter to rescue what was left of the cake batter. “In the future, Mr. Holmes, stick to government.” She added with a wink in his  
direction. He just huffed in amusement and agreed.

“At least we’ve accomplished a good percentage of the meal with,” he checked his watch, “an hour and a half to spare.”

“We?” She mused under her breath with a grin.

“Hey!” He accused with a finger, and she just laughed. Just then, they heard the door open and slam closed. Mycroft’s eyes widened and the cook’s smile disappeared. She mouthed, “Who’s that?”  
at him, and the ginger man went to investigate. He turned the corner and saw a very, very disgruntled Gregory Lestrade at the door, kicking off his shoes. Mycroft tried to scuttle away, but the grey-haired man caught sight of him as he was taking off his jacket and froze.

“My?” He asked, his voice cautious. The ginger man frowned, and returned around the corner.

“Hello, love.” Mycroft said with a weak smile. He put one hand on his hip and scratched his head. He noticed a dark flash in Greg’s eyes and tilted his head. “What’s the matter?” He asked.

“Well, for one, you’re not supposed to be here. You’re supposed to be off somewhere saving the world on Valentine’s Day,” Lestrade’s voice seemed calm, but had an accusing twinge to it. He pointed a matching finger. “For two, you lied to me, and made me spend my day with Sherlock and John constantly yelling at each other instead of falling deep in love like you planned it, so obviously I fucked that up.” He threw his hands in the air with a groan of frustration, bringing one more to rest on his temples. “For three, why the bloody hell are you covered in flour?”

“Gregory…” He took a step forward, but stopped when his lover put his other hand up. “I was… cooking.”

Lestrade looked at him with his eyebrows raised. “You were what?”

Mycroft sighed. “I was attempting to make a meal for us tonight. I was planning a surprise, but, it seems the whole plan has gone awry. I apologize. And, I did not lie to you. I have been very busy.”

“With what?” Lestrade muttered in a snappish tone. Mycroft sighed and held out his hand.

“Accompany me.” He said hopefully. Lestrade eyed his hand for a moment before letting out his own sigh and taking his hand. Mycroft led him through the house, to the back room they have spent so much time in. He opened the door, and allowed Lestrade to enter the room first. He took a gentle step into the room before gasping.

“Mycroft…” He turned around, taking in every detail of the room. It was bleak in the room, as the sun was low and covered in clouds, but the beauty and the time taken to put this together was obvious. “Did you do this all yourself?”

“I do wish. But, no. Our own John and Sherlock helped me yesterday afternoon. Well,” Mycroft half-smiled, “More John than Sherlock. It was part one of two plans: one, to make them realize their affections, and secondly, to decorate this room for our engagement tonight.”

Lestrade let a small smile slip through. “You put me through hell today, you know.” He muttered, but the harshness had faded from his tone. He turned to face his lover.

“I apologize, and I apologize again. I do plan on making it up to you tonight.” Mycroft stepped closer and wrapped his arms around Lestrade’s waist. Greg responded by setting his arms on the ginger’s shoulders.

“Good.” He pressed a kiss to the other’s cheek. “This is beautiful, Mycroft… thank you.”

“It is my pleasure, I assure you.” Mycroft gave a chaste kiss to Lestrade’s willing lips, and then slightly pulled away. “For now, I must finish cooking.” He laughed lightly, “And by cooking, I mean standing in the kitchen watching Cook do everything. She’s forbid me from touching any utensils.”

“Since I’m here now, I’ll come help. I’m sure she’d appreciate it.” Lestrade commented while walking past the elder Holmes, who gave him a quick pat on the rear end which made both laugh.  
They returned to the kitchen, where Cook gave a quick glance at Mycroft (who gave a nod as if to say, “Everything’s good") before smiling widely at Greg.

“Good. Some real help.” She joked, and they laughed, though Mycroft looked mildly offended.

The grey-haired man’s phone buzzed, and Mycroft raised an eyebrow. They both read the text.

[text] From: [John Watson] To: [Gregory Lestrade]: Thank you. Really.

They both started looked at each other fondly, and Cook threatened them with a spatula if they didn’t start cutting fruit to top the cake Mycroft almost ruined.

With Lestrade’s help, their night went perfect.

**Author's Note:**

> if someone wants to write the case that John and Sherlock went on to end up on a romantic boat ride in the Thames i'd be eternally interested and i'd love you forever
> 
> thank you so much for reading! <3


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